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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23864143">When nature sleeps she dreams; There is life</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Splatx/pseuds/Splatx'>Splatx</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alpha Dutch Van Der Linde, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Animal Instincts, Childbirth, Dutch is a good mate, Fix-It, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, I Will Go Down With This Ship, I was sober while I wrote this, M/M, Mpreg, Omega Arthur Morgan, The Author Regrets Everything, The Author Regrets Nothing, What Was I Thinking?, Why Did I Write This?, graphic childbirth</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 22:48:39</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,454</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23864143</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Splatx/pseuds/Splatx</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>But he couldn’t rest. Couldn’t relax. Every part of him vibrated, itched, screamed <i>wrongwrongwrong. Not here!</i> his Omega was screaming in his head, and he wanted nothing more than to flee his birthing den, the one he had made with Dutch and Hosea; the old Omega had gone quiet when he’d looked for him as he’d started scooping out the dirt, bobbing his head to invite him over, and his eyes had shined suspiciously. Though this wasn’t his first rodeo, his first pregnancy had been spent at Eliza’s house, as civilized as you please, and he’d had a midwife of all things to help him give birth. Hosea hadn’t been there, none of his pack had, and he’d always regretted it.</p><p>He was surrounded by his pack. Dutch’s scent layered his birthing den, and if he stuck his head through the flaps of his tent he’d be able to see the others, Susan and Sadie and even Trelawny, all pacing around, air thick with their scents, making sure they were safe, that they had nothing more to focus on than staying calm and bringing their pups into the world.</p><p>But beneath it all, Micah’s scent was sour in his nose.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Abigail Roberts Marston/John Marston, Arthur Morgan/Dutch van der Linde, Javier Escuella/Bill Williamson</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>131</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Even when you can't see it / Inside everything / There is Life</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <h3 class="title">
<em>Even when you can't see it<br/>Inside everything<br/>There is Life <br/></em>~There is Life, Alison Krauss</h3><p>The Van Der Linde gang was done and gone.</p><p> </p><p>They didn’t rob, didn’t steal, didn’t ride into town and threaten anyone. While they still had to fear Raiders, O’Driscolls, Del Lobos and Skinners, people breathed easier.</p><p> </p><p>That wasn’t to say the Van Der Lindes were dead. Or even separated, scattered to the four winds and acting under their own names.</p><p> </p><p>No, they were still together, still sharing a camp, still spending each day together, drinking and singing and riding out. But when they rode out, it was to hunt, to work, not to thieve or murder or steal. The thing was, they weren’t a gang anymore. They were, as they’d been in the beginning, when it was just Hosea and Dutch, then Hosea and Dutch and Arthur and John, and the first few they’d taken in, a family, a Pack, as Dutch had always preached, but as they hadn’t been in a very long time.</p><p> </p><p>It had been hard, too. They’d paid off their bounties, which had been, perhaps, the hardest part, even harder than taming the instinct they all shared that made them want to go out and steal, was earning the money for it; thankfully, not too many of them had bounties, seeing as many of them didn’t leave camp, and of those that did a large deal of them kept to the shadows, doing the grunt work, little wagon and cabin robberies, their bounties relatively low. But Dutch and Hosea’s, Arthur and John’s, more than made up for theirs. But they’d worked hard, picked out their robberies carefully, and finally, <em> finally</em>, paid them off, before hightailing it several states away—though they no longer had bounties on their heads, that didn’t mean they were safe.</p><p>
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</p><p>Life wasn’t perfect, of course. Bill and the others still got into fights at the saloon, and sometimes they struggled to find food, though that happened less and less as they found reliable work. (Who knew that John was a damn good farmhand?) But they had their own territory now, one that they didn’t have to worry about fleeing from at any moment, and after much, much discussion, they were looking forward to their first breeding season as a pack.</p><p> </p><p>They’d gone through breeding seasons before, but breeding seasons gone through as a gang and breeding seasons gone through as a <em> pack </em> are two different beasts. Hosea and Strauss had always made suppressants for the Alphas and Omegas of their group, Dutch coughing up money for contraceptive herbs that every member of the gang was made to drink, no matter their designation. Even still, the breeding season was never productive, they never earned much money, having to rely on the Betas to hunt and earn money, the Alphas and Omegas rather preoccupied.</p><p> </p><p>But as a pack… Well, it would be a true breeding season. A few new pairs had been made, their bonds would be solidified during the season. Only those who wanted to would take the herbs, would take the suppressants, but by the end of the season none of the pairs had chosen to, instead spending the season entwined together in the dens they’d made out of their tents, trusting their packmates to take care of them as any pack should.</p><p>
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</p><p>By the fifth month, when those who’d caught during the season had begun to swell with pup, they packed up and moved to the birthing territory that Hosea, Dutch, Arthur and Charles had scouted out when they’d first found their territory. Though it was rather far from where they usually stayed, they remained unaccosted—only a damned fool would attack a pregnant Omega, and they had three, as well as their very protective mates, and several unmated Alphas. You’d have to be suicidal to attack their caravan.</p><p> </p><p>Their birthing territory was nice, but not extravagant. Hidden by a forest, they set up their tents outside of a cave, although the Omegas had poked around inside of it, and as the months went by they’d find the spot they found most comfortable and move their tent to it, carving out a ‘den’ of sorts with the help of their Alpha and any others they permitted, deconstructing the tent until it was little more than a tarp that hung over the cave-inside-the-cave and extended it some.</p><p> </p><p>As the ninth month came to a close, the camp ground to a stop.</p><p> </p><p>Stress scent filled the air, the unmated, or at least those who hadn’t caught, on edge as they paced the forest, keeping any predators who would be drawn by birth-scent away, eyes keen for those who would take advantage of their weakness. They were down several of their number, those that would normally patrol laboring or soothing their laboring partner in turn.</p><p>
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</p><p>Bill sat, awkward and uncertain, fingers running through Javier’s hair. For once, the man wasn’t composed, his face ruddy and hair wild, but his birth-scent wasn’t strong; he had long to go, yet. Mary-Beth was quiet in her nook, head in Charles’ lap, only the sound of his humming coming from the birthing den—they’d been a pairing no one had expected, but perhaps they should have. Both quiet and composed, they shared a love for thought and reading, and though Mary-Beth was a fair few years younger, watching them interact no one would have thought so.</p><p> </p><p>Arthur, though, was quiet. His stomach was swollen, scent long gone sweet, and dull, weak pains radiated down his back every half hour or so, and Dutch came and went as he tried to sleep, running his fingers through his hair and trailing his fingers along his bond-mark soothingly.</p><p> </p><p>But he couldn’t rest. Couldn’t relax. Every part of him vibrated, itched, screamed <em> wrongwrongwrong</em>. <em> Not here! </em> his Omega was screaming in his head, and he wanted nothing more than to flee his birthing den, the one he had made with Dutch and Hosea; the old Omega had gone quiet when he’d looked for him as he’d started scooping out the dirt, bobbing his head to invite him over, and his eyes had shined suspiciously. Though this wasn’t his first rodeo, his first pregnancy had been spent at Eliza’s house, as civilized as you please, and he’d had a midwife of all things to help him give birth. Hosea hadn’t been there, none of his pack had, and he’d always regretted it.</p><p> </p><p>He was surrounded by his pack. Dutch’s scent layered his birthing den, and if he stuck his head through the flaps of his tent he’d be able to see the others, Susan and Sadie and even Trelawny, all pacing around, air thick with their scents, making sure they were safe, that they had nothing more to focus on than staying calm and bringing their pups into the world.</p><p> </p><p>But beneath it all, Micah’s scent was sour in his nose.</p><p> </p><p>He’d sworn, up and down, that Micah was nothing good. That he would just bring them to ruin. But he’d helped them clear their names, and so Dutch had let him be pack. And though he’d continued to swear it, had refused to let him near as his stomach swelled, had made his displeasure <em> very </em> clear, Dutch had put it down to hormones, to a pregnant Omega’s displeasure at an unmated Alpha being so nearby; Hosea had brought up that he was just fine with Sadie and Susan, but Dutch had made the (admittedly good) point that Susan was a parental figure to him and, thus, his Omega was more likely to look <em> to </em> her than to be alarmed, and Sadie still reeked of a broken bond, despite it being months gone.</p><p> </p><p>But he couldn’t so much as look at Micah without feeling the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. The Alpha was nothing shy of bad news, he’d swear it on Eliza’s grave, and he’d rather die than let him near his pup. As the breeding season had neared, despite how Micah put on a massive song and dance of deferring to their lead Alpha, and that Arthur had said Alpha’s mark on his neck, he couldn’t blink without finding Micah’s eyes boring into him.</p><p> </p><p>And he’d swear up and down that Micah kept patrolling passed his den. The man’s spurs had a certain way of jangling, and each time he heard them he jolted awake, no matter how deep his sleep; he’d done so since he’d taken to his den, some two weeks before, at the same time the others did to rest and relax and prepare for the births.</p><p> </p><p>Anxiety roiled, high and volatile, in his chest. He couldn’t bring his pup into the world anywhere near the Alpha. He didn’t know what he’d do to them, but he knew, he did, that he couldn’t be allowed anywhere near his pup. He wouldn’t be able to defend his pup, and the pup, of course, wouldn’t be able to defend itself. His stomach clenched in fear, sour bile rolling in his throat though he hadn’t eaten since the day before, and clenched his fingers into the dirt, digging canyons into it as he ground his teeth together.</p><p>
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</p><p>A baby wailed from the direction of John’s birthing den, shrill and high-pitched and <em> healthy</em>, and Dutch murmured an apology, an ‘I love you’ and a kiss to his temple, fingers ghosted against his bond mark as he crawled out of the den, approaching John’s den. He was the lead Alpha and, so, he needed to examine the pup. Make sure it was healthy, see if it needed any extra care. Scent it, so it would smell like their pack, and congratulate Abigail and John on their pup—and, of course, he wanted to see his grandchild, too.</p><p> </p><p>He whined pleadingly, <em>Alpha,</em> <em>no, don’t go</em>, he wouldn’t be able to defend his pup from Micah on his own, but Dutch was already gone, leaving him to curl in on himself, a dull pain running down his back. The Omega shivered, freezing as Micah’s scent grew stronger in the air, horribly familiar spurs jangling towards him. He bared his teeth, pressing himself back against the rock wall of his den, wrapping an arm around his taut, swollen stomach, shivering as they came to a stop before his den. The Alpha stood there for a long, horrid moment, sniffing so loud that he could hear it, before moving on, and his Omega screamed in his head, <em>‘Not here! Not here! Not here!’</em> and though he often denied his Omega, tended to act more like an Alpha, in this he agreed.</p><p>
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</p><p>Slowly, he crawled towards the lip of his den, slipping aside the flap of the overhanging tent. If he were caught by any of the Alphas or Betas patrolling, keeping dangers out, they’d take him back to his tent. They meant well, of course, if he dropped his pup outside of the camp it would be in a lot of danger, but to him Micah was the biggest possible danger. And he wanted Dutch to be there, he wanted his Alpha there for the birth of their pup, more than anything, wanted his scent around him, his skin against his, voice in his ear.</p><p> </p><p>But he wouldn’t put his pup in danger just for his own comfort. So he waited, watched and timed the patrols, slunk out as carefully as he could between Trelawny and Lenny, curling around his stomach as he moved as quietly as he could to the tethered horses, cringing when his gelding nickered a greeting at him, glad to see his person after such a long time away, and Arthur hurried as quickly as he could with his heavy stomach and dull contractions into the herd, waiting to see if the nearest guard, thankfully the Beta Uncle, would come to see what had gotten his attention, but the old man simply stared for a long moment, before continuing to lumber along his way.</p><p> </p><p>His horse, of course, wasn’t tacked up, so he had to sling himself up on his back, and he’d never been more glad that he’d tamed a Mustang than he was then, his stomach getting in his way and leaving him having to try one, two, three times before he managed to get up, patting the horse on his neck in apology before swinging him around and, with a last look back at the cave where the other two Omega stayed with their Alphas, his instincts split—he wanted his Alpha, desperately, but he <em> wasn’t safe, wasn’t safe at all</em>, so he drove his heels into his horse’s flanks, kicking him into a gallop and into the forest.</p><p>
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</p><p>How long they rode, Arthur couldn’t say. His pains increased, becoming more frequent and sharper, harsher and more distracting. He leaned forward on his horse, resting his forehead on his neck, letting him have his head, but he knew they’d gone far, far away. Miles upon miles, if Micah tried to follow him he’d have a hard time of it, they’d passed three towns that he’d counted, but they’d ridden a great deal of time with him not looking, his head on the gelding’s neck, so he didn’t know how many more towns they’d passed.<br/><br/></p><p>He gasped, a sharp pain shooting through his stomach, and clutched at it, whining “Please, just a little longer pup,” even as he dropped from his horse, looking around. A forest lined both sides of the road, and so he struck his horse on the rump, sending it away with a scream—if anyone tried to follow him, they’d be following horse-hooves, and be thrown off track, surely!</p><p> </p><p>The Omega whined as another pain shot through his stomach, and began to walk into the forest, moving without thinking, <em> he wanted his Alpha, desperately</em>, but going back meant being near Micah and he <em> refused, positively refused, </em> walking in circles, looping here and there, leaving a confusing trail as he sought somewhere to hide, pains coming quicker and quicker, and <em> where was his birthing den why had he left his why hadn’t his Alpha made him safe? </em></p><p> </p><p>He yipped, skidding down an incline, following the sound of rushing waters and could have cried when he spotted a depression. It wasn’t much, barely a hole in the side of the rock cliff, but it was angled just-so he found when he knelt and crawled in, big enough for him to stretch out in and so it was enough, he missed his nice birthing den back with his pack, dug out with his Alpha and his Pa’s help, nice and large with enough space for him and his Alpha to sprawl out, his tent staked to the wall and stretched out to give them even more room. This den felt claustrophobic, barely a foot of space above him and to his side, but he couldn’t be picky at the moment, so huddled down and curled tight around his stomach, baring his teeth against the pain.</p><p>
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</p><p><em> ‘I want Dutch, I want my Alpha, I want my Alpha, this hurts, please this hurts, help Alpha please, where are you?’ </em> Why wasn’t his Alpha here? What had he done wrong? He was scared and in pain, his Alpha should have been there, he whined pleadingly, calling for him wordlessly, stretching out in the dirt and digging furrows, the pains growing closer and closer together, sinking his teeth into his tongue to keep from screaming. He couldn’t, he <em> couldn’t </em> cry out, there were so many sorts of things that would take advantage of an Omega in labor, and he knew there were forests near the birthing territory that were filled with cougars and grizzlies and he hadn’t a clue if this was one of them.</p><p> </p><p>He reached, curling in on himself, and spat bile off to the side as a particularly painful contraction shot through him, cradling his stomach and licking his lips <em> he wanted his Alpha, desperately, where was Dutch? </em> but heat flushed through him, and he needed to get his clothes off, this was really starting, and this time he would be alone, christ he was going to be alone, no midwife or Alpha, the midwife last time had put chloroform on a rag and he’d been out of his head, and now he knew why.</p><p> </p><p>Arthur stripped his shirt off, soaked through with sweat, flinging it to the side, uncaring as it struck the side of his den in a shower of dirt. His pants were quick to follow, inside wet with his waters (and when they’d broken he couldn’t recall, his mind was fuzzy and <em> where was Dutch where was his Alpha he hurt he was scared</em>), and he shifted up to kneel, trying to ease the pains, arching his back til his knees touched his stomach, moaning pitifully, clenching his fingers in the dirt until his palms were filled with it, shuddering as he tried to breathe through a contraction.</p><p> </p><p><em> ‘Hosea,’ </em> he thought, baring his teeth, he wanted his Pa there if his Alpha wouldn’t be, sitting by him as he always did when he was sick and hurting, rubbing above his hips where he hurt, though the pains were starting to shoot into his stomach, each one taking his breath away, leaving him gasping, tears blurring his eyes.</p><p> </p><p>The pain finally easing, he dropped to the ground, hips in the air, head on his crossed arms. The dirt <em> itched</em>, painful on his sweaty, sensitive skin, and <em> where were the furs Dutch had made him? </em> Soft wolf pelts and a massive bear pelt, all rich with Dutch’s scent, and <em> why didn’t his birthing den smell like his Alpha? </em> It <em> wasn’t right wasn’t right wasn’t right! </em> He wanted his birthing furs, to curl up on until it was time to labor, drop his pup and bond with them, his Alpha with him, this was <em> all wrong all wrong all wrong</em>.</p><p> </p><p>But there was nothing he could do, his Alpha was hours away and even if he wasn’t Micah was with him, and he refused to let his pup be <em> anywhere near </em> that untrusty Alpha, his want for his own be damned.</p><p> </p><p>So he stretched out on the filthy dirt, set his teeth into his arm, and labored alone.</p><p>
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</p><p>How long he did so, he didn’t know.</p><p> </p><p>The world faded into hours upon hours of waves of pain, falling closer together. Moving up to kneel, arching with each pain, biting into his arm until he tasted blood to keep from crying out until the pain ended and he collapsed to the ground. He wanted his Alpha, desperately, but his Alpha was far away and crying out would only invite trouble.</p><p> </p><p>This was going to kill him, surely. He was so, so tired, everything ached and the pains were agonizing. He was soaked in sweat, and was sure that he could be smelled for miles.</p><p> </p><p>Another pain shot through him, driving him to his hands and knees, though he shook, violently, legs refusing to hold him up. His forehead rested against the ground, eyes stinging as sweat dripped into them, <em> ‘make it stop, please, make it stop, Alpha help me, I’m going to die, help me,’ </em></p><p> </p><p>“Arthur?”</p><p> </p><p>He froze, ice cold panic dripping down his spine. He wanted nothing more than to call out, to plead for his Alpha to <em> come here, come to me, please, this hurts I need you god please, </em> but he was so weak, he didn’t think he <em> could</em>, and there was a scent beneath that of his Alpha’s, though just barely, dragged along by the breeze that chilled the sweat stuck to his skin, and so though a contraction still rippled through his back, his stomach, he collapsed to the ground, shoving himself against the far wall of his birthing den, fighting down the whimpers and whines that wanted to spill from his throat.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> ‘Alpha, please, help me, I need you, where are you why are you so close but not here?’ </em>
</p><p> </p><p>“Arthur, where are you!”</p><p> </p><p>He bared his teeth, curled in on himself, clenched at his stomach, wanted to go up to his hands and knees as it rippled, retching from the pain, but that would make <em> noise </em> and</p><p> </p><p>knees hit the ground at the lip of his den, those familiar brown eyes staring down at him, and he sobbed a whine as Dutch gasped, “Oh Arthur, thank god.” and he wanted to cry out, to cling to his Alpha, but all he could do was freeze, waiting for the Alpha he could scent on the air to approach, to loom over his Alpha and strike him down, to come after him and slaughter his pup to bring him back into his Heat <em> and and and </em></p><p> </p><p>He clenches at his stomach, digs his nails into the twitching flesh, and could see the moment Dutch smelled how strong his birth-scent is in the air, nostrils flaring and eyes going wide, ducking to crawl in with him though they only barely fit, crooning “Oh Arthur, what were you <em> thinking,</em>” and reaching out to guide him to his hands and knees, smoothing his hand up and down his lower back soothingly and the warmth of it alone could have made him sob.</p><p> </p><p>Dutch stripped his jacket, his vest and his shirt, threw his pocket watch and the other metals off to the side to join his own clothing, before shoving the rest under him—they were no furs, but they’d be far more comfortable to collapse onto than dirt. The Alpha pressed kisses along his spine, humming some song he felt he should know but the pain was too distracting</p><p> </p><p>and then there was a voice outside his den, and his Omega was screaming <em> run run run! </em> but he couldn’t, his pup was going to drop soon and he couldn’t fight and the Alpha was <em> standing right there</em>, and <em> why was his Alpha leaving? </em> Dutch was saying something but his ears were ringing, he sobbed a whine and reached for him but the Alpha, still shirtless and he would have found it funny any other time, was crawling out of his birthing den, voice joining with Micah’s though he couldn’t understand what they were saying, could only focus on the pain</p><p> </p><p>a bang, and blood-scent filled the air.</p><p> </p><p>He yelped, dropped onto the clothes, eyes wide and <em> please no don’t let that be Dutch </em></p><p> </p><p>A hand smoothed through his sweaty hair, plastered to his face, and he looked up, whining pitifully, unable to form words, tears dripping down his face when he came face to face with his Alpha, smelling of rage but trying to smile soothingly, leaning down to press a kiss to his forehead, “Don’t worry, Arthur. He won’t be bothering you again, I’m so sorry I ever let him near you.” a croon spilled from his throat, a sound that had Arthur relaxing, melting into the ground even as another pain shot through his stomach, he loved that sound, before they’d become Mates he’d heard Dutch make many sounds, so many sounds to the Betas and other Omegas he’d fucked, but that sound he’d only ever made for him.</p><p> </p><p>He scrambled, weakly pushing against the ground, but he was <em> so weak </em> and he <em> hurt</em>, his limbs refusing to obey, and leaned heavily against Dutch as the Alpha supported him up, crooning in his ear, murmuring nonsensical love-words as he supported him under his chest, his hips, even as Arthur dipped them, turning his head to bury it in the crook of his neck, gasping for breath, smothering himself in the soothing scent of his Mate even if it did smell of blood, he knew his Alpha would never hurt him and the blood was from him protecting him and his pup, Dutch nuzzled his chin into his hair and <em> crooned crooned crooned. </em></p><p>
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</p><p>Arthur arched his back, strained, and sobbed, letting Dutch take most of his weight. The Alpha ran his fingers down his spine, <em> crooned crooned crooned</em>, murmured love-words then helped him find a way to comfortably rest against him when the contraction ended.</p><p> </p><p>“So good Arthur, you’re doing <em> so good</em>, I couldn’t be more proud of you,” he purred low in his ear, kneading at the base of his back that still throbbed with pain, “Such a good Omega, such a good boy, I love you so much,”</p><p>
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</p><p>How long he labored for, pushing and straining, Arthur couldn’t say. The world faded into waves of pain, of contractions and love-words and crooning, of collapsing against Dutch as he rubbed his back, murmuring in his ear “You can do this, Arthur, you’re the strongest person I know,” among other encouragements, and he’d never been able to disappoint Dutch so, though he wanted nothing more than to collapse and die he’d draw himself up with the next contraction and strain until it ended, keening loudly, knowing Dutch would protect him if something followed his sounds and scent.</p><p> </p><p>“Come on, Arthur, just one more,” Dutch crooned when he saw him starting to fade, struggling to push, his exhaustion winning over, the Alpha’s teeth bared in anguish at being unable to do anything for his Omega’s pain, the lines of his face deep with concern, wishing that he could summon Hosea or Susan, but they were hours upon hours away, so it was just he and Arthur, there was a <em> reason </em> Omegas gave birth among their pack dammit, and if Micah wasn’t already dead he’d have killed him again for making his Omega feel as though he weren’t safe to birth with them, where he’d have the closest thing to medical care they had, in case something went wrong, or at the least some sort of painkiller because seeing Arthur in so much pain was killing <em> him </em>.</p><p> </p><p>The Omega strained, and the Alpha’s eyes widened, moving as the pup began to breach, catching a head of dark hair, “Arthur, you’re doing it, there she is,” and the Omega gasped a purr, a girl?, even as he strained, the pup’s shoulders popping out, Dutch carefully guiding her out, Arthur collapsing to the ground as Dutch finally, <em> finally</em>, cradled their pup to his bare chest, quickly and efficiently cleaning her with a handkerchief from his pocket, unable to help the proud croon that trilled in his chest, beaming when she looked up at him with his Arthur’s eyes, leaning forward to help Arthur stretch out on his side before setting her in his arms, the Omega purring as he buried his nose in their pup’s hair, drawing in her scent, committing it to memory, a sleepy grin crawling across his face as he murmured,</p><p> </p><p>“An Alpha,” a perfect little Alpha girl, although she would have been perfect if she were an Alpha, a Beta, an Omega, or some monstrous mix of the three, she had ten fingers and ten toes, two eyes and two ears and a full head of hair and they both couldn’t possibly love her more.</p><p> </p><p>“She’s perfect, Arthur.” Dutch stretched out on his side, keeping himself between his Omega, pup, and the entrance to the den, between any dangers, “You did wonderfully, Omega. Sleep, we’ll both be here when you wake up.” although the Omega was already falling asleep, the pup held carefully to his chest.</p><p> </p><p>They’d have to return to the camp eventually, submit to Susan and Hosea’s fussing, but for now it was just them and their pup, just a pair of proud parents and their child, and Dutch fully intended to let Arthur enjoy it for however long he wanted.</p><p> </p><p>Besides, he wasn’t looking forward to Hosea’s <em> ‘I told you so.’ </em> when he told him he needed someone to burn Micah’s body.</p>
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<a name="section0002"><h2>2. After the pain; The joy will still be here</h2></a>
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<em>After the pain<br/>The joy will still be here</em><br/>~There is Life, Alison Krauss</h3><p>Hosea nearly cried when they rode back up to the denning cluster.</p><p> </p><p>He’d been almost more frantic than Dutch when, after checking over John and Abigail’s new baby girl (a perfect little Beta), the Alpha had gone to crawl into Arthur’s birthing den, only to find it barren, Arthur’s scent going stale. Dutch had come flying out of it screaming the Omega’s name, Susan and Hosea rushing over expecting to smell blood, fearful of smelling death-scent, only to nearly be bowled over as the Alpha continued to scream his name, bellowing <em> ‘where are you!’ </em></p><p> </p><p>Hosea had had to be held back from following him when, upon finding his scent, then Micah’s, the Alpha’s fading, leading to the horses and then, finding both their horses missing, Dutch had leaped upon the Count bareback and fled after him. The elderly Omega was needed—they still had a birthing Omega, after all, and what if something went wrong? And he needed to keep an eye on the Marston’s daughter, too, as well as John himself. But he’d been near inconsolable the whole while, threatening Micah’s life, liberty, and balls to Susan when he wasn’t with his charges.</p><p>
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</p><p>Dutch had let Arthur sleep as long as he wanted, the pup sleeping with him. He crooned to them even though they couldn’t hear him, dead to the world—he couldn’t be happier. He had a pack who trusted him, a grandchild waiting back home, a pack-pup or two waiting (Javier was <em> big</em>, after all, and it wouldn’t surprise him to find that Bill threw multiples), and now an Omega that loved him and that he loved dearly, and a pup of his own. It was… surprisingly terrifying, he hadn’t been a very good father to John or Arthur (he <em> had </em> Mated Arthur, after all), and it was a girl and a Beta and he’d seduced so many women away from their homes that already he feared it happening to his daughter, though he trusted Arthur would never allow it and he intended on raising her up to think for herself, not to fall for the first Alpha or Beta or even Omega to sniff her way.</p><p> </p><p>The Omega blinked awake, yawning, and it was only when he was fully awake that Dutch helped him to dress, giving him his own, clean, pants to wear, putting on the Omega’s wet ones, staying shirtless as the rest of his clothing was ruined with birthing fluids, his pocket-watch and other such things clasped to his pants, crawling out of the den first and blinking at the bright sunlight, looking around and making sure it was safe before turning, accepting and cradling their daughter as Arthur made his way out, helping the still-exhausted Omega to his feet.</p><p> </p><p>Where the Omega’s horse had gone, he didn’t know. He’d seen where hoof-prints had diverged from footprints and followed the latter, heart and Alpha screaming <em> Arthur-Arthur-Arthur</em>, and intended on sending Leopold or Lenny or Charles, probably one of the first two as he rather keep the Alphas near home, to retrieve the horse and burn the body once he returned, got his Omega tucked up nice and safe, and then never leave his side again.</p><p> </p><p>Arthur settled gingerly in front of him, cradling their pup, resting back against his chest as he took the Count’s mane in hand and settled him into a canter, trying to find a gentle beat that wouldn’t hurt his aching Omega, wouldn’t wake their daughter and make her cry.</p><p> </p><p>It wasn’t long before the rocking soothed his Omega to sleep, resting back against Dutch, trusting him to keep him and his pup in the saddle, even in sleep his arms clutching their daughter protectively.</p><p>
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</p><p>It was a <em> long </em> ride, and he had nothing more than his thoughts to occupy him. His Arthur, his Omega, had had to ride this, laboring all the while, because he hadn’t made him feel safe. He wished nothing more than that he’d left Micah to suffer, so that he could go back and make his death a long one, a slow one, the sort that was his right as an Alpha to deliver upon one that threatened his Omega. But his Omega was safe, though there had been times when, despite his encouragement and his soothing and his words, he had feared that Arthur <em> wouldn’t </em> be able to deliver their pup, that he’d lose them both, without Susan or Hosea there to help him. That he’d only be able to watch as Arthur collapsed against him a last time, unable to draw himself up without the strength he’d been able to see leaving him, unable to push anymore, only able to give out and die and take their pup with him.</p><p> </p><p>If he had, Dutch was sure, he’d have died alongside them.</p><p> </p><p>At the thought, he shivered, lowering his head to bury his nose in Arthur’s hair and soothe himself with his scent.</p><p>
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</p><p>“It’s Dutch!” the call startled Arthur awake, the Omega curling tight around their pup, and Dutch released one hand from the Count’s mane so he could curl an arm reassuringly around Arthur, “and he’s got Arthur!” it was Tilly greeting them, the Beta holding her rifle, although Susan and Hosea were close at her heel, and the sound Hosea made would have made Dutch laugh at any other time, but it sounded just as he had felt when he finally found the source of Arthur’s scent, that pathetic little den that was <em> nothing </em> close to what his Arthur deserved.</p><p> </p><p>He slung himself from the Count’s back with a pat to the Arabian’s neck, muscle memory more than anything, the horse <em> hated </em> being ridden bareback but had put up with it as he scented his rider’s panic, though he was a finicky, mean thing he was loyal and loved Dutch and knew when to obey and of all times that had been it, before reaching up to take their pup from the man, cradling her in the crook of one arm as though she were something precious (which she was), as though she were fragile porcelain which would shatter if he so much as breathed on her wrong, and the fondness on Arthur’s face was obvious as he accepted help getting down, still aching and sore and <em> tired</em>, but reaching immediately for his pup. He trusted Dutch, of course he did, but she was barely a few hours old and he wanted nothing more than to keep her close to his skin. The Alpha tasted the air, scenting for danger, but there was nothing other than the scents of his pack, and two new ones, a warmth blooming in his chest, he’d been right, Bill had sired twins, a pair of Alphas from the smell, and he knew Javier must be incredibly proud of himself.</p><p>
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</p><p>Hosea and Susan stuck close to his side, allowing him to lean against them, as Dutch called Lenny over and sent him off, a grin flickering across Hosea’s exhausted face, and he knew he’d be getting a decent few ‘I told you so’s, although the man was quickly distracted when they reached his son’s birthing den, eyes suspiciously hazy when Arthur, after a moment of hesitation, offered him his pup to hold while he crawled inside, tilting his head to invite him in.</p><p> </p><p>And what a great honor that was! a birthing den was an Omega’s safest place, and to be allowed inside was a show of nothing more than complete and utter trust. So he passed the pup to Dutch before following him in, moving slow and careful not just on account of his clicking joints and aching bones but in case Arthur abruptly changed his mind, he wouldn’t blame him after all, while his Omega viewed him as <em> family </em> he was still in an enclosed space with his newborn pup, but when Dutch followed and tried to pass the pup to Arthur he shook his head, and Hosea found himself cradling her, a lump in his chest.</p><p> </p><p>He’d never thought he’d be a grandfather. Never thought he’d ever hold a child again, had thought Arthur, then John, would be his last, but earlier he’d held John’s little girl and now he was cradling Arthur’s, and he couldn’t help but to remember his own pup, long, long ago, he was far beyond Heating age but he remembered when he was still Mated to Bessie, when he and his Alpha had tried for a normal life, abandoning Dutch and Arthur for a year, fumbling through a breeding season. They’d lived in a wonderful little cabin, but come winter he’d lost them both to pneumonia, and he’d never thought he’d hold one again.</p><p> </p><p>The Omega trilled to the pup, feeling Dutch’s hand on his back, and from the look on his friends face he knew just where his mind had gone. Though he wanted to do nothing more than cradle and rock her, he had things he needed to do, and began to run his fingers over her birth-soft skin, cooing at her when she kicked and twitched at the touch, examining each little finger and toe, well aware of Arthur looming nearby. The Omega well knew that Hosea would never hurt her, but his instincts were screaming in his head, and he couldn’t help it even as he leaned against Dutch’s side, blinking blearily. He twitched every time someone came by, which was often, the other pack members wanting to meet the new pack-pup and make sure she and their wayward packmate were safe.</p><p>
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</p><p>Susan knelt in front of the birthing den, setting down a bowl of water and a rag—though Dutch had cleaned her up, she needed a <em> real </em> wipe-down, only to freeze as Arthur leaned forward to catch her wrist in his hand and tug. The old Alpha hesitantly made her way inside, watching Arthur as she was slowly, slowly handed his daughter, running her finger through the baby’s hair, taking her in, oh, but she looked so much like him, and though Susan was no crier there was a definite lump in her throat, she remembered the day they’d brought Arthur into their camp, and now the boy she’d raised like her own son was a father, she couldn’t believe it.</p><p> </p><p>The pup clung to her finger, and she cleared her throat, remembering her own Omega that had never been able to catch despite several breeding seasons, reaching for the rag and dipping it into the water, making sure it was only damp before beginning to wipe the baby dry, the hair on the back of her neck standing on end under the stares of Dutch, Arthur and, to her amusement, even Hosea.</p><p>
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</p><p>What a strange little family they made. And, in a month or so, when Javier, John, and Arthur rejoined them, done with their lying in, they’d make a strange <em>large </em> family.</p><p> </p><p>None of them would want it any way else.</p>
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